


Amalgamation

by timeladywitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry dies in like the first 10 seconds, Voldemort also dies greusomely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 10:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13187997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeladywitch/pseuds/timeladywitch
Summary: Harry is dead. Hermione cannot let Voldemort go unpunished.





	1. The Final Battle

**Author's Note:**

> Amalgamation - combine or unite to form one organization or structure  
> I saw these two quotes:  
> “I am a raging sea trapped inside of a raindrop”  
> “Don't fashion me into a maiden that needs saving from a dragon. I am the dragon, and I will swallow you whole.”  
> and thought up this story, hope you like it!

The battle rages on in the halls of my first home. I see the castle walls being pieced apart by wayward spells and the occasional full body impact. The paintings’ frames are all empty, I notice, but do not blame them for leaving. I would leave if I could. I was only placed in Gryffindor because I valued bravery, not because I had any of my own. I envy the portraits their easy escape into the nothingness between frames. I fight my way back to the thick of the fighting, reminding myself that I’m fighting for the right to exist, the right to belong to this world that has caused me unending pain since the day I turned up to board that scarlet train.

I am brought out of my musings by the thump of a lifeless body; a sound no 18-year-old girl should be able to recognize through the cacophony of sound now flooding the Great Hall. I turn quickly as I dare, my world-view in maddening slow motion, to see Voldemort standing tall. Blood rushes past my ears as I scan the ground at his feet to see Harry, paler than he has ever been. I look for the rest of my friends -Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and so many more- only to see them all laid out on cots. I push them to the back of my mind, hoping that they’re merely unconscious, to focus on the red-eyed beast towering over my dead best friend. 

I feel the eyes of everyone in the room on me as my rage crawls from under my skin, forcing its way into the light of day. 

“Voldemort,” I call him this for he is truly more monster than man now “You have done the one thing I can never forgive. You have murdered my last hope. That was a terribly dangerous mistake to make.” I do not know where these words come from, but I can feel their power settle on me like a heavy cloak, comforting if not entirely practical given the setting.

He sneers at me, his face twisted in false pity. “Oh, the little Mudblood wants to play, too. I have plenty of strength left to dispatch with you easily.” He barely holds his wand ready, looking to all the world at ease in his position, confident in his superiority. 

He will regret underestimating my willingness to die, if only I can take him with me.

I feel no more words form, so I only sneer back. I stalk across the hall towards him, damn near giddy with satisfaction that he does not know what I am capable of. I channel the residual magic in the air to fuel my fire, feeling Harry’s own magical core join my well. I never even lift the wand dangling from my fingertips. 

Voldemort does not see his destruction closing in on him, he is far too cocky to think a mere girl born to Muggle parents could ever pose a threat to his immense greatness. I spare only a second to laugh in his face before I let the magic overflow out of me. Waves upon waves of raw energy hit Tom Riddle Junior in the chest, throwing him through the hourglasses behind him. The jewels scatter as he tries to regain his footing. I do not let him. I control the flow of magic now, creating a spearhead of pure white-hot raw energy to kill the creature in front of me. Stalking consistently toward him, I let him see the weapon for a split second before I remove his mobility. Ever so slowly, I drive the point of my spear through his forehead, incinerating any and all brain matter to be found. 

His lifeless body doesn’t hit the floor. I cannot allow this vermin such niceties as to be laid to rest. He does not get a mundane finality. He does not deserve it. 

I let my magic tear him limb from limb and dissolve his remains. Nothing is left behind, save his followers and their Mark. That reminds me… I turn back to the world outside my mind and his obliteration to see all eyes still on me. I can smell the fear from all sides. I smile sadly. 

“Death Eaters, willing or not, I have need of your presence. Come.” I do not need to raise my voice, they are all listening. I see Draco step forward first, good. I will not kill him, he helped as much as could in his position. I beckon him to open his sleeve to show his Mark, and he does so. I freeze him and clarify merely, “This will hurt.” I give no other explanation before my magic surrounds his forearm and draws out the dark magic from his skin. He screams until it is over, and sags to the floor when I release his arm. A cot is conjured under him by a nearby Madam Pomfrey. I can feel my well running low, so I motion for all of the Death Eaters to come forward quickly; they do. I feel which ones are repentant, and which ones delighted in the game. I take the mark away from those who never wanted it, or didn’t know what they were agreeing to. The rest, I immobilize and chain to the stone wall to await their Azkaban room assignments.

The last thing I notice is that the stone floor is much softer than you expect it to be when falling.


	2. After

I hear the voices when they come to visit me, and I notice when they leave. Though they are each different, I cannot place them separately. They all say the same things. 

"Get better soon, Hermione." Ron, maybe? Or Remus… Bill would say the same.

"We love you, Hermione." Probably Ginny or Luna, though it could be… I don’t know.

"Wake up, dear. We miss you an awful lot." Definitely Mrs. Weasley.

Occasionally It will change, always the same voice telling me "We won, Hermione. You saved us all. You won the war. Why’d we have to lose you to do it?"

But who is it? I don’t recognize the tone. And why are they telling me to wake up, I’m right here! I try to move my fingers, but nothing happens. I am frustrated, and a small whine slips out of my throat. Suddenly there is a commotion above my head and the room gets incredibly bright. I feel a weight lift off my whole body, like a blanket being snatched from a bed. I open my eyes only to snap them shut again. The lights go out and I try again, seeing only blurry shapes. 

“Hermione, dear? How are you feeling?” Molly asks from the end of my bed. I only groan in response, my head feeling like it will crack with the strain of seeing things. 

“Molly, not now. Hermione, look at me please.” I swing my head to find the person attached to the voice, finally stopping at the face of Poppy Pomfrey. “Lovely dear, where does it hurt?” I can only gesture vaguely “Everywhere? Can’t say I’m surprised. You depleted your magical core with that show.” She pins me with a look that says I will have to explain myself later. 

That will be an easy conversation, he killed Harry. I couldn’t possibly stand for that. I try to vocalize this but only manage “’Ar-r-ry” but it seems to be enough. The mood turns somber and no one will look at me now.

“Go back to sleep, dear. We will talk when you’re better.” Madam Pomfrey held a potion to my mouth.

O-O’

I am back to full strength six months later, thanks in no small part to Madam Pomfrey, strictly enforced bed rest, and healing potions. I have come to terms with my newfound fame as The Girl Who Defeated Voldemort, and enlisted the help of Draco Malfoy to show me how to work my fame to my own gain (such as adding a Wizarding Studies course for first-year muggleborns, repealing most of the outdated werewolf legislations, and getting Harry a quaint burial next to his parents in Godrics Hollow.).

I have also had to come to terms with the side-effects of absorbing another magical core into my own. I now must wear glasses (Harry’s eyesight truly was awful, and now mine is too) and I now take my tea more like he did (two sugars and a dash of milk, I used to take honey only). The only other pieces of Harry that I kept were his scars; all but the one he was famous for. I got all of the nicks he got fighting his way through the forests during 7th year, all the scratches from his years on the Quidditch pitch, and I got all of the scars from his years in the Dursleys’ house. Those were the hardest to get used to, I can’t fathom how Harry didn’t retreat into rage every time he saw the reminders of how little they cared about him.

I still miss him, every day. But, I try to live my life as he would have wanted to live his; I have a job I enjoy and I stay close to my friends. 

All was not well, but it was close enough.


End file.
